She says, "You should know, dear "The world doesn't stutter when it walks, "Not the way you "Stumble through your thoughts." And I wish I could untie The spool of my mind But I Keep feeding it thread, Hoping it will spill out my mouth in A rainbow scarf
Written in place of the 26-page history project due Monday
I’m unknotting myself To knit myself new Unpicking rows with too much tension others that are too loose. What else can I do in this lockdown time but search the lines for a new pace and time rhythm and rhyme. To find a style of pearl and plain And hope we can knit together again Hear the needles click in an untick time warming the heart in a different way, awake to the day What else can we do but discover a pattern we can knit together uncover our hearts to something new and maybe true Me and you To get us through.
It's a ball of tangled yarn that I just can't figure out I need to untangle it before my time runs out. What if my "what-if's" come true? I can't sleep because the threads twist and constrict I just don't know what to do.
Picking up wool with your needles A long straight line turns into a sweater Change The rule is that we move towards the unknown Or away from it Which one do you want it to be
Hatred rises from below Reaching the maximum ability of vague comprehension It starts and ends in the same moment I think I can imagine myself without a final point in this Cosmos Knitting myself out of the dimension I was destined for is futile
All understanding: science, religion, merchandisable forms of expression, art, philosophy manipulates a piece of us but I am left devastated No amount of material will make a sweater thick enough to keep out the universal cold
this cautious man (bobby jean) born in the u.s.a. grownin’ up in the badlands of atlantic city bonded with blood brothers felt born to run along backstreets in brilliant disguise that did cover me frequently blinded by the light of the full moon
casting silhouettes against darkness on the edge of town which lunar shafts pierced candy’s room while immersed in book of dreams describing better days on a Cadillac ranch
where devils & dust - visible dancing in the dark celebrating like calendar showered 4th of july or other glory days in darlington county even though I ain’t got you.
livin’ in the future mine hungry heart hankered and felt like I’m on fire for you, this fire in me craved human touch desire - roaring into the ole factory fire because I wanna marry you because the night populated with girls in their summer clothes
each dazzling like 57 channels (and nothin’ on) in imagination of my american skin descended from when adam raised a cain before last to die forecasting kingdom of days now dwelling in celestial mansion on the hill.
now rightfully claim status of I’m a rocker/ local hero and I’m goin’ down meeting across the river if I should fall behind on the downbound train as living proof within light of day magic jungleland
policed by highway patrolman i.e. johnny 99 alias johnny bye bye – held up without a gun defending this lucky town established on Matamoras banks from an incident on 57th street
thus celebrated as local hero every independence day when with ****** incorporated firing point blank out in the street that staccato new york city serenade from no surrender outlaw pete originally from nebraska.
it’s hard to be a saint in the city open all night within my hometown once my father’s house, now my city of ruins where tis moot to ask does this bus stop at 82nd street?
one step up into the pink Cadillac hops the ramrod queen of the supermarket teasing audio dials sans radio nowhere a red headed woman
racing in the street toward secret garden to save my love – with thee angel rosalita (come out tonight) offering reason to believe roll of the dice real world and to prove it all night
from spare parts – shards of roulette wheel housing souls of the departed please save my love and stolen car for sherry darling – that spirit in the night
she’s the one among souls of the departed no longer stopped by state trooper precinct based along streets of philadelphia some crackling like streets of fire straight time mandate for those armed to the teeth along tenth avenue freeze-out.
requiem per terry’s song – what love can do accompanied by e street shuffle performed in somber tones rumbling down thunder road for souls of used cars two hearts crushed
along this hard land for: the ghost of tom joad the last carnival homage to wild billy’s circus story the price you pay when you’re alone working on a dream now wreck on the highway.
we take care of our own from youngstown when heading of to the promised land the rising distant mystical eden where you can look (but you’d better not touch) espying the river of salvation
joining eternally the ties that bind a tunnel of love or like the wrestler pinning opponent tougher than the rest like laborers working on the highway chiseled like this hard land!
I'll spin your yarn With no embellishments On the twilled roles you've spun; I won't tink your knitted history. I'll needle for pearls of wisdom, And wear you as the fabric of my life. You fit like a woolen hoodie.
"tink" knit backwards to unravel what's been knit.